


is that a proposition?

by clearlykero



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:04:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearlykero/pseuds/clearlykero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a request over at my Tumblr. Tezuka teaches at a tea school, and Fuji is one of his favourite students.</p>
            </blockquote>





	is that a proposition?

**Author's Note:**

> fair warning-- i know fuck-all about tea schools besides reading that one e-book sob. and this is partly for ma gurl rinzhen as well eheh. vocabulary guide at the end~ merry christmas!

You can feel Tezuka’s gaze upon you as you set the tea whisk down. He tells you that you’re good, not with words but with the lack of, rather; usually he asks you a question, or comments on an inappropriate proverb choice when presenting. Today his silence is approving, and you bask in it, glowing. Everyone plainly sees that your feelings are not just that of pure admiration towards your teacher, everyone except Tezuka himself. Maybe he sees and is steadfastly ignoring it, maybe he’s really that oblivious. It doesn’t matter: he acknowledges you, acknowledges your talent, and that’s enough.

“I wish you would continue with your studies,” he eventually says softly, in the middle of you packing away your things. Your fingers pause for a moment. There are a lot of answers you could give to this. Ultimately, though, it comes down to whether you want to deceive him or if you’re willing to be truthful. You hum to yourself, set your tea bowl back inside its box. It’s probably the last time you’re going to talk to him. No harm in a little honesty.

“There’s no point in me doing that if you’ll be in Kyoto by New Year’s,” you reply, shifting in your place. You’ve never liked sitting in  _seiza_. Tezuka, of course, sits like he was born to it. Which he  _was_ , close enough.  _Chado_  has been his focus for nearly thirty years, nearly his entire life. You, on the other hand, were pulled into it four years ago by your innocent next-door neighbour and had plans to leave as soon as you found a polite opening.  _And then there was Tezuka,_ you think wryly.

“You could receive your title faster than usual. I would recommend you,” Tezuka’s voice is earnest. His eyes pin you with the wrong sort of emotion— expectation, not desire, and you look away.

“I don’t have the means to fund an application, you know that.”

Receiving that honour was easy for Tezuka. His father and grandfather are both teachers, and the family talent naturally passed down. As did tea bowls, sets,  _kimono_ , everything. The  _kimono_  Tezuka’s wearing now is an exquisitely sewn single-crest garment, adorned with the symbol of the Urasenke tea school. You don’t have access to anything like that without paying exorbitant amounts of money. Tezuka is well aware what your financial status is.

“I would not require the gratitude fee—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you say, as kindly as you can. “The other students already gossip about me. I wouldn’t give them more ammunition.” At his perplexed face, you continue: “Besides, there’s the tea gathering to think about. I’d have to host one for my colleagues, some of whom I don’t get along with.” That’s an understatement, frankly, but Tezuka likes all his students and teachers to get along, so you won’t correct yourself.

“And tea gatherings are expensive,” Tezuka finishes your implied sentence, sighing. You know he thinks that this is what has been bothering you, but of course the money is secondary to your foremost concern, which is that Tezuka is leaving. 

Part of you hates  _chado_  for stealing Tezuka before you even knew him— before you were even born. 

“I’m not that serious about  _chado,_ in any case,” you add. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. Whatever it is, Tezuka doesn’t like it. You can see it in the downcast of his eyes, the way he doesn’t say anything but presses his hopes on your shoulders anyway.  _Please take it seriously_ , he says with the line of his hands,  _please take something seriously_. But he doesn’t understand that you _are_  taking _him_  seriously— you don’t think he’ll ever understand that.

“If you weren’t serious, you wouldn’t have stayed for so long,” he says. 

Another part of you loves  _chado_  for reasons that have nothing to do with Tezuka. It’s the unexpected challenge of a tricky tea blend, the satisfaction of choosing the right  _tokonuma_  display to floor your guests, the subtle intricacy of every flick of your wrist in the tea bowl. Because Tezuka is right: you couldn’t have stayed so long if it was only him keeping you here.

But like how Tezuka alone is not enough,  _chado_  alone will never be enough. You smile at him, tilt your head and don’t answer. He can think what he wants about you; there are vulnerabilities you won’t willingly give up.

“Why will you only learn from me?” Tezuka says, abruptly, his fingers twisting in his lap then relaxing. “There are others— Yukimura, I believe—”

“No,” you say forcefully, “you— your style is the one I fell for.” The stutter is unlike you. You’re sure he notices. He couldn’t not. For all your bravado you’re still a child compared to him, a college boy trying to seduce your thirty-four year old teacher. Perhaps in another time, another place, you would have stood as equals and this suffocating dance wouldn’t have taken four years. 

“Me?” he asks, hesitantly.

“Yes,” your voice almost cracks but you manage to control it, “you.”

There is a long pause, and you almost decide to get up and leave when Tezuka clears his throat.

“I apologise,” he begins slowly, “if this causes offense, but— do you have plans, tonight?”

It’s Christmas, you realize. Tezuka spends Christmas with his friend every year, this boy who can’t be much older than you. You can’t remember his name. (You don’t really want to.) “I don’t,” you say. There’s something fluttering in your stomach but you stamp it down.

“Would you like to have dinner together?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” you say it before you think about it, and then you’re too amused to want to take it back. Tezuka’s ears are red and he won’t meet your eyes.

“If you don’t mind a date with someone like me.”

It’s funny how anticlimactic it is, even though this is something you’ve been wanting for four years. There aren’t any fireworks going off in your head, no swell of string music in the background. Just the clack-klonk of the  _souzu_  in the garden and the rustle of your clothes in chill air. You smile a little wider, crinkle your eyes a little more, and he smiles in return (and oh, that smile is  _rare_  but when it comes it gives you all the clichéd feelings in the book). 

“May I take that as a yes?” Tezuka asks, reaching over to brush the back of your hand with his fingertips. 

“You may,” you concede, turning your head haughtily; he  _laughs_ — miracle of miracles— and pulls you closer to him.

Outside, the first flakes of snow begin to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> chado: tea ceremony  
> tokonuma: alcove in the tea room with a hanging calligraphy scroll and maybe a flower arrangement.  
> souzu: that water-filled bamboo tube thing in all the animu lol


End file.
